


in these bodies we will live

by ohmcgee



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, coffeeshop au but not really, tim is basically night nurse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3798916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows that Gotham is full of bad men and Jason is one of the good ones. He also knows Jason isn’t ready for him to know yet, so he keeps his mouth shut, does what he can by taking care of him when he stumbles through the door, a fresh night of wounds to be tended to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in these bodies we will live

He always comes in right after they open, bright and early, the dining room awash in sunlight. Steph calls him 602 because that’s when he always shows up, like clockwork. He always orders regular black coffee and adds enough sugar that it makes Tim’s teeth hurt just to watch him sip on it, sits in the same chair he always sits in, at the same table in the corner next to the exit. Sometimes he has a fresh bruise or cut on his cheek or right above his eye; today there’s a scrape high on his forehead, but his hair covers most of it. 

He’s been coming in for so long that Tim pulls a medium cup out as soon as he hears the bike pull into the parking lot. By the time 602 walks through the door in his beat up leather jacket and ripped jeans, smelling like the cigarette he smoked outside before he came in, Tim’s pulling the coffee pot out and filling his cup. 

“You should put something on that,” Tim says, eyes falling to the split in his bottom lip, then back up to the scrape next to his temple which really looks like a gash this close up. It could probably even use stitches. “We’ve got a first aid kit in the back.”

Which is how he ends up in the breakroom standing between 602’s legs, gently smearing antibiotic cream over the nasty cut on his forehead.

“I feel like I should know your name,” Tim says, standing so close he can see the little green flecks in 602’s mostly blue eyes. “I can’t just call you 602 forever.”

The guy gives him a curiously amused look, his eyes crinkling in the corners a little, and says, “Right, I guess I’m not wearing a name tag.” He winces when Tim stretches a small butterfly bandage over the cut. “I’m Jason.”

“Well, Jason,” Tim says, wiping the blood on his hands off on his apron. “What the hell did this to you?”

Jason smirks. “I like how you said what and not who.”

Tim shrugs. “This is Gotham.”

Jason laughs. “I like you. You’re smart. Most people turn their heads, you know? Try not to see what’s right in front of their faces. You’re not like most people, are you?”

Tim tries not to stare at Jason’s mouth when he wets his lips. “I’m just a barista, Jason,” he says and shuts the first aid kit. “There’s nothing special about me.”

 

***

 

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Harper and Conner don’t come in until around nine, so most mornings when Jason shows up it’s just him and Steph, and Steph watches the counter while Tim takes Jason to the back and fixes him up. 

“Who did this to you,” Tim mutters, brushing Jason’s hair out of his eyes to get to the gash over his eyebrow, but they both know it’s rhetorical. He doesn’t ask and Jason doesn’t tell, but Tim wasn’t born yesterday. He knows that Gotham is full of bad men and Jason is one of the good ones. He also knows Jason isn’t ready for him to know yet, so he keeps his mouth shut, does what he can by taking care of him when he stumbles through the door, a fresh night of wounds to be tended to. 

“Jesus christ,” he gasps when Jason tenderly shrugs out of his jacket and he sees the bright red spot on his shoulder. He also notices in the same moment how pale Jason’s gone, how he’s started swaying a little on the table. 

“S’okay,” Jason says. “Shoulder wounds always bleed like bitches.”

“Yeah,” Tim growls and frantically searches through the first aid kit that he’d restocked last week for a big enough bandage. “There’s a reason for that, you idiot.”

“M’fine,” Jason says. “Or, you know. I will be.”

“You’ll bleed out on your stupid bike is what you’ll do,” Tim says, finally finding a big, square bandage and ripping it open with his teeth. “Take your shirt off.”

“Hey now,” Jason gives him a crooked grin. “Buy me dinner first, you tart.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Tim says, helping Jason off with his shirt when it looks like he’s having some trouble with it. “You don’t die in the back of a shitty coffee shop that doesn’t even sell fucking scones and we can go wherever you want.”

“Yeah?” Jason asks, fingers tightening around Tim’s hip when Tim pours antiseptic over what looks like a goddamn bullet wound. Tim thinks, _hopes_ , jesus christ, that it just grazed him. “Frankie’s, then. Best fuckin’ chili dogs on the planet.” 

“Chili dogs sound awesome,” Tim murmurs as he wraps the gauze around Jason’s shoulder, slightly distracted by the dig of his thumb into his hip, the way he’s leaning forward with his forehead pressed into Tim’s collarbone. For a few minutes Tim’s pretty sure he passes out on him.

“I wish you’d be more careful,” he says before Jason leaves and Jason just shoots him a look back that tells Tim all he needs to know.

Before they go out on Friday Tim learns how to stitch up a wound. He has a feeling he’s going to need it.


End file.
